Broken Hallelujah
by Hidden Treasures
Summary: It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship, through the ups and downs, beginning to end.
1. Chapter 1

**Broken Hallelujah  
****Chapter 1:**

**Disclaimer:** I'm a poor college kid simply playing with the wonderful characters that Anthony Zuiker was so kind to create.

**Spoilers: **Any season is up for grabs; the ultimate goal is explaining episode 13x15, _Forget Me Not_.

**Summary:** Kind of a song-fic, but not really. It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship through their ups and downs, beginning to end.

**Author's Note:** Though bummed about _Forget Me Not_ (biggest kick to the gut the writers ever dished out, in my opinion), I couldn't help but write this. And the song I'm referencing at the beginning of every chapter is _Hallelujah_, originally written by Leonard Cohen, but there have been many remakes of it.

* * *

_I've heard there was a secret chord,_

_That David played and it pleased the Lord,_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this:_

_The fourth, the fifth,_

_The minor fall, the major lift,_

_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_

**October 2000**

Grissom sat in his office, trying very hard to contain his panic. Holly's been shot, Warrick's at fault, and Brass has been demoted, leaving him in charge. Not the best situation to be in. He sat behind his new desk in his newly-appointed office and tried to just think. If only he could turn off the rapid stream of thoughts running through his mind.

What to deal with first? Holly? No, no. She was already being taken care of at the hospital; all they could do now was wait. Warrick? Grissom sighed. Warrick was in a heap of trouble; he would be fired faster than anyone could say "_reasonable doubt_" if the Internal Affairs Bureau handled the investigation. So that option needed to be rectified. But who was qualified enough to investigate Warrick fairly? Everyone from the Las Vegas Crime Lab was out, lest they be called out on personal bias and compromise the investigation…

This person would have to be intelligent, compassionate, fair, and trustworthy. He barely had to think twice before picking up the phone and dialing a number he knew by heart. A few seconds later, and her cheeky voice answered, "Hello Dr. Grissom. Seeing as it isn't Wednesday, I assume this isn't purely a social call?"

He couldn't help but smile at that; she never missed a beat. For the past few months, they'd arranged a schedule of weekly phone calls that were always made on Wednesdays. He loved Wednesdays; it was the only day he could truly unwind and let out the troubles that had been weighing him down over the course of the seven days since he'd last spoken to Sara. And she felt much the same. She enjoyed their weekly chats, probably more than she should. But if over the phone was as much of him as she could have, it was what she would take, for the time being.

However, it was a Sunday. So something had to be wrong, Sara mused.

"Right again, Miss Sidle," he replied just as teasingly, grateful for the cloud of tranquility – however temporary – that settled over him, as it usually did whenever he spoke with Sara. "I am actually in need of a favor; if it's not too much to ask, I need your help with something."

"Yeah, sure," she said, trying to keep the excitement in her voice to a minimum while trying to swallow the butterflies that had begun in her stomach but were now beginning to crawl into her chest and up her throat. She tried to quash her hopes that she may actually get to see him again before they rose too high. "What's up?"

Grissom sighed and ran his hand across his face. Where to start? He took his glasses off and nervously began to spin them between his thumb and forefinger.

"Grissom?" she asked softly after a few seconds of silence. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Oh, where to begin?" he murmured quietly.

Sara paused, and then said gently, "The beginning is usually best."

He licked his lips and said, "Our newest CSI, Holly Gribbs, was shot earlier this morning."

"Oh my goodness," Sara gasped. "Is she alright?"

Grissom shrugged, saying, "We don't know. But my bigger problem is that another CSI should have been with her. He wasn't; if he'd been there, maybe this whole mess could have been avoided, or maybe I'd have two dead colleagues on my hands. And this whole conundrum has caused an entire cascade affect around here: Jim's been demoted while I've been promoted to his supervisory position, and Warrick's been suspended until this has been taken care of. I feel as though I've been thrown under the bus, left to fix a problem that really isn't mine to fix."

Sara listened patiently, not interrupting his stream of words.

"Sara, I need you," Grissom finally whispered. "If I let IAB handle this, Warrick doesn't stand a chance. Please. Please help me."

Without hesitating, she softly answered, "I'll be there as soon as I can," and just like that, Sara Sidle was irrevocably in his life.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**May 2001**

No, no, no, no, _no_. A steady stream of denials and curse words flooded through Grissom's mind as he listened to Agent Culpepper divulge his "grand plan" for capturing the ever-elusive "Strip Strangler," as they had dubbed him. If even _thought_ of using Sara as bait, they had another thing coming…

"I want to."

No, no, n…wait, _what_? She cannot be serious. He listened incredulously as Sara and the federal agents all gave him reasons why Sara would be the perfect decoy to catch the serial killer. And it infuriated him. It infuriated him that members of the federal government had no regards for the safety of his CSI and it infuriated him – and concerned him – that Sara was so blasé about this whole operation. Her life was on the line and she didn't seem to mind. Sometimes, she was just too empathetic for her own good.

A headache began clawing at his temples and didn't go away for days. It only intensified when Jim informed him that, despite his wishes, the FBI – and Sara – had gone ahead with their decoy plan. No, no, no. Sara could not be used in this plot. It was too dangerous. What would he do if she were harmed? He couldn't even imagine any worse of an alternative...

Sitting in the FBI van, Grissom kept his eyes glued to the surveillance monitors, his gaze never leaving Sara. For hours, he watched over her.

"That guy's coming back!"

He pointed to the monitor as he issued the warning, his heart rate increasing as the man approached Sara.

"Culpepper," he said sharply.

But he was forced to wait and watch her interact with this stranger who may or may not be a serial killer. When the man's hand grabbed Sara's wrist, he was out of his seat heading for Sara before Culpepper issued the go-ahead.

Her wallet. Luckily that's all the man wanted. And even though the FBI agent informed them of another body, he silently thanked the heavens above that Sara did not come across their killer; he thanked the heavens that Sara was safe. He placed his hand on the small of her back, and let out a breath of relief. She was safe. His heart rate finally began to return to normal.

The heat of her skin bled through her thin blouse and leached into his hand. He never wanted to remove his hand, but, alas, he had to, because it was not appropriate. Because he was her superior. Because he was so old, and she so young. Because she deserved so much better.

After all, sometimes the best thing to do is to do nothing…

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! More to come soon (tomorrow, at best; Wednesday, at worst), and I promise the next chapters (seven in all) will be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Broken Hallelujah  
****Chapter 2:**

**Disclaimer:** I'm a poor college kid simply playing with the wonderful characters that Anthony Zuiker was so kind to create.

**Spoilers: **Any episode that has been aired in the United States is up for grabs; the ultimate goal is explaining episode 13x15, _Forget Me Not_.

**Summary: **It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship, through their ups and downs, beginning to end.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to the few who have reviewed thus far; I hope you continue to read and enjoy. The song I'm referencing at the beginning of every chapter is _Hallelujah_ originally written by Leonard Cohen, but there have been many remakes of it.

* * *

_Your faith was strong, but you needed proof;_

_You saw her bathing on the roof;_

_Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you._

_She tied you to a kitchen chair,_

_She broke your throne and she cut your hair,_

_And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah._

**February 2005**

I've never seen Sara so broken. This is the first time she's completely lost control in front of me. Sure, I'd seen her cry after tough cases, but never like this: never shoulder-shaking, gut-wrenching sobs. Hearing about her family has burned a pit in my stomach, coiled a knot in my chest, and filled me with the deepest shame: how could I have been so blind to all of her suffering. All I want to do now is comfort her. But how? Things are rocky enough between us. So I reach over and take her hand, hoping to offer support and encouragement through this simple gesture.

When her fingers squeeze back, the knot in my chest pulls even tighter. As I am staring at the woman in front of me, now knowing all that she has overcome and everything she still carries with her during every case she has ever investigated, I just can't let Ecklie fire her. I will not let that pompous, bureaucratic ass take her from me; I need her. I've always needed her, but it's just taken me awhile to realize exactly how much…

I wish desperately that I could make up for my atrocious behavior towards her, but I then realize it may take a bit of time to repair the damage that has been done to our relationship. It was me who ruined it, and now I'm determined to right it. Sitting there with Sara, sharing her burdens with her, realizing that she has just entrusted to me her deepest secret, I realize that I never want to let go of her hand. I never want to let go of this connection. I actually enjoy the close contact with Sara, much more than I probably should. And this frightens me…

But I still reach over and hold her hand with both of mine now. Her hands are so cold, and so pale. And though she has her face buried in her other hand, she's still beautiful. Inside and out, she is beautiful.

"Everything will be okay, Sara," I murmur to her.

Though I would have liked to have stayed with her longer, I feel my pocket vibrate for the fourth time that hour. Loathe I am to leave her, but it looks as if she is in need of sleep, and I've avoided Ecklie's phone calls and pages long enough to be considered unprofessional. So with a promise to return in a few hours – with food – I squeeze her hand one last time and leave for the lab. I'm dreading the conversation with Ecklie, but he damn well is _not_ firing Sara.

As soon as I enter his office – though Catherine and Conrad are in the midst of a conversation – I ask, "You wanted to talk to me about Sara?"

Ecklie, too used to my brusque interruptions, looks up from whatever Catherine had been showing him to look me in the eye as he says, "I haven't received her disciplinary action. What's the holdup?

"Well I'm not firing her," I tell him authoritatively, putting a lid on that option.

I can hear the betrayal in her voice as Catherine asks, "What action are you taking?"

"I've taken it," I tell her softly, trying to apologize with a look. I clearly do not succeed.

Conrad huffs out a sigh before saying, "I thought I was clear."

"You were," I say calmly, "now let _me_ be clear: Sara's behavior is a direct result of my management."

"So I should fire you?" Ecklie shoots back, smirking.

I smile, acknowledging the bluff.

"But you won't."

"Look, Gil, I've been there," Ecklie says, exasperated now. "We're human. We get attached to people."

My eyes flicker to Catherine, and she silently stares back. I'm forced to look away under the intensity of her gaze. She should know exactly what he is referring to: she's known about my feelings for Sara for years. She's known that Sara has always been my weakness, my Achilles heel. Let's pray Ecklie doesn't find out the depths of my feelings. But how could he, when I'm still trying to sort them out myself?

"We try to fix their problems," he continues. "It doesn't work."

"She's a great criminalist, Conrad," I tell him softly, then pause before adding, "And I need her."

Catherine stares at me incredulously while Ecklie purses his lips and stands.

"I'm sure you do," he retorts scathingly. He sighs then glares at me, raising his hands in surrender, "You know what? She's a loose cannon with a gun. And she's all yours."

My lips can't help but mold into a small smile. Victory! However the smile disappears when I see the disappointment and betrayal in Catherine's eyes. I purse my lips slightly and give her a slight shrug before I also leave the office.

As promised, I swing by a local market and purchase a half dozen bagels, fresh fruit, and hot tea for both myself and Sara before heading back to her apartment. She still looks exhausted when I reenter her apartment.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" I accuse as I make my way towards the kitchenette area in her apartment.

"I tried," she replies, making her way toward me to help with the food. "And thank you for this. I honestly didn't think you were serious."

This stings. Trying to keep my voice light, I tell her, "Well, I said I'd be back later with food, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah," she says, shrugging, "but when have you ever kept your word when it comes to me?"

This stops me short. Sara sighs and says, "I'm sorry Grissom. That was rude. I'm being rude. This is a very nice gesture, and I'm being unappreciative. I'm sorry."

I shake my head. She's exactly right, and I tell her so, pulling her up short.

"You and I have been…" I struggle to find words. "Distant. Most of that is my fault, contrary to what you said the other week. My personality is just extremely introverted. It's hard for me to let people in. But I'm trying, Sara…I want us to be better. I miss the friendship we used to have. I-I miss you."

She says nothing, but a small smile begins to work at her mouth, but her eyes are still guarded. As she should be. I'll have to work on that…

"So," she asks casually as we sit down to eat. "What's the verdict?"

"You are still gainfully employed at the Las Vegas Crime Lab," I tell her.

Shock slackens her features. She wraps her fingers around her tea – her food still lying on her plate, untouched – as she leans back in her seat, asking, "Well, that's, uh, that's good. Any issues, any repercussions, any shift changes?"

I shake my head.

"Nope. You'll serve your suspension and then you're mine again."

For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile begins to work its way across Sara's face, making her eyes light up. I vow to never make that smile go away.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**May 2007**

Hank's soft snoring by my feet is soothing background noise as I try to piece together the miniature pieces of my office. Sara is in our room, watching a movie, enjoying a late-night snack, and the fact that we've both somehow scored the night off. She won't be going to bed anytime soon – thanks to the internal clock that comes with working the graveyard shift – so I should have a couple of hours to try and build my mini-office.

My mind begins to wander as my fingers work. _Our home_. _Our bedroom_. I still cannot believe – though it has nearly been two magical, wonderful years – that Sara is in my life, in a more complete and personal way than she used to be. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I shall be forever grateful to her that she has given me more chances than I deserve. A life with Sara is something I shall never take for granted, something I shall never discard whimsically…

…I jump slightly upon feeling Sara's hands on my shoulders. I spin in my chair, about to ask what she wants, when she plants her lips firmly on mine. She tastes like strawberry yogurt, smells of jasmine and citrus, and she feels like home. Her presence is intoxicating, and I stand to deepen the kiss. I place my hand on the small of her back – one of my favorite places to touch – and pull her closer.

She finally pulls back, but plants another kiss, a softer one, on my lips. I keep her close by encircling her waist with my arms. Her hands mimic mine and surround my (much larger) waist. I'd always been self-conscious about my figure in front of Sara. After all, she is young and beautiful and I'm not. But she keeps telling me that I'm just perfect, too…

"Well, hello, my dear," I murmur into her hair. "If you wanted me to stay with you, all you had to do was ask."

She shook her head and said, "I don't mind that you tinker, creepy though your current project is. But, I found something of interest, and I was wondering…why didn't you send this to me?"

I now realize that she is holding something in her left hand. My heart drops into my stomach as I recognize the letter I had written for her when I was at Williams College. My heart pounds in my chest and I am at a loss for words.

"I would have loved to have read this," she said softly, smiling gently. "Why didn't you send it?"

"Because," I begin, "those words weren't meant for your eyes."

Her arms go limp, her eyes tighten, and she tries to take a step back. Frustrated at my incompetence and suddenly realizing how that sounded, I quickly attempt to backtrack.

"That's-that's not what I meant," I say quickly as she tries to keep the tears from her eyes.

I want to kick myself: I've made her cry. I take her hand in mine and with my free hand, I trace her facial features, trying desperately to convey my feelings for her through my caresses.

"Those words were meant for your ears, not your eyes," I amend in a rush. "I-I wanted to tell these things to you in person, so I'd be able to hold you when I said them, be able to look you in the eye. To send a love letter when I haven't even told you to your face how much I love you…I couldn't do it. So I didn't."

New tears are beginning to arise in her eyes, but before I have time to panic, she whispers, "You love me?"

Now it's my turn to be confused. How could she _not_ know that I love her, that she is the light in my dark world? I realize that this is the first time that I've actually spoken the words aloud. She has said the words to me, several times, but I've never reciprocated. I'd hoped my actions spoke louder than my words ever could. Apparently I had to try a little harder.

"Yes," I affirm, pressing my lips lightly to her temple, "with all that I am, I love you, Sara. And I never want to be apart from you."

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**January 2009**

No wonder Sara has come here to study and conduct research. It is absolutely beautiful and peaceful and teeming with life. It's very humid, though; my shirt is sticking to my back and my hair is wicking together with sweat. This heat is much different than the dry, blistering heat of Las Vegas. But I'm sure I can get used to this, for her. Because she is the only person I would drop everything for. I cannot lose her. Please, God above, please don't let me be too late…

I can see the camp ahead through the clearing. I'm almost there…

…And then I see her. She has her back to me – preoccupied by a Capuchin monkey in a tree – and I just stand and watch her, still in awe that she was once mine, in awe that she is mere yards from my fingers. I hope that she still wants me, too. She looks so beautiful, even with the physical changes she's made. She's cut her hair, and it has lightened after the countless number of months she's spent under the sun. She's gained a couple of well-needed pounds, and her skin is tanner than I had ever seen it.

She suddenly freezes, and slowly turns towards me. I now freeze, unsure of what to do. I'd like to take her into my arms and never, ever let her go again. But that won't do, if she truly doesn't feel the same anymore, as her video message had indicated. My heart hammers inside my ribcage and I suddenly can't suck enough oxygen from this muggy environment. I want to turn and run from this place, but I'm rooted to the ground.

Her face slackens in shock. Her jaw drops slightly as her eyebrows rise. And I'm still frozen, rooted in place by fear of rejection.

Suddenly, thankfully, she gives a tearful smile and takes a step towards me, breaking my trance. I drop my pack to the ground and walk numbly towards her, my arms outstretched. We collide in a tangle of limbs and lips. I taste salt, and I'm not sure if it's sweat, tears, or both. I pull her to my chest and just hold her, thankful to have her in my arms again. Suddenly, all of the pain and darkness of the past few months is blissfully lifted, a heavy shroud pulled free from my shoulders now that Sara is here with me. I can feel my heart beating in my chest, stronger than it's felt in months, and I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Sara is the remedy no doctor could ever prescribe.

My arms wrap around her more tightly as I rest my forehead against hers. Tears are still glistening in her eyes as pure happiness radiates from her. I need no verbal confirmation from her to know that my presence is welcomed. For several long minutes, we simply stand there, basking in each other's company, rememorizing each other's features, never wanting to part. If I could just hold her for forever, it still wouldn't be long enough. But I'll content myself with spending the rest of my life with her, because she completes me and I never want to be without my other half again.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! The next one should be posted over the weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

**Broken Hallelujah  
****Chapter 3:**

**Disclaimer:** I'm a poor college kid simply playing with the wonderful characters that Anthony Zuiker was so kind to create.

**Spoilers: **Any season is up for grabs; the ultimate goal is explaining episode 13x15, _Forget Me Not_.

**Summary:** It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship, through their ups and downs, beginning to end.

**Author's Note:** Welp, I apologize immensely for the delay, but you know how life is: unpredictable. To my loyal few, I heartily apologize, and I hope this was well worth the wait. And, again, the song I'm referencing at the beginning of every chapter is _Hallelujah_ originally written by Leonard Cohen, but there have been many remakes of it.

Also, if you haven't been reading the lyrics at the beginning of each chapter, I highly recommend it; they help decipher what the chapter will be about. Therefore, listening to the song will give you a heads-up about the rest of the story! :)

* * *

_Baby, I have been here before,_

_I know this room, I've walked this floor,_

_I used to live alone before I knew you._

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch;_

_Love is not a victory march._

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah._

**February 2002**

_He's an ass! I don't need him or his enigmatic riddles! I can find work anywhere I want!_ This is my mantra. These are the words I keep repeating to myself as I scan the Internet for job openings within the Federal Bureau of Investigation. There are a few that catch my interest, and I've met all of the prerequisites for them already, according to the job descriptions. All that's left to do is apply…

But I've really grown to love Vegas. I love the heat. I love the landscape – minus the casinos and flashy lights. I love my job. I love the people I work with, with just one exception. And I never really was fond of the east coast, where the FBI headquarters are located. It's too cold, and I never got used to the snow. But I don't think I can stay here anymore. Grissom just doesn't appreciate me, what I do, or any of my personal values. He's too introverted and ignorant to be an affective team leader.

I power down my computer after scanning the Internet for a few more jobs across the country. So far, nothing was up to par with the standards I am used to at the lab. It will be extremely difficult to find a decent position; hell, I already work at one of the highest-ranked labs in the country. Maybe I should just find another way to deal with Grissom…

In the locker room at the end of shift, I'm shouldering my jacket and replacing my badge and gun when a voice at the door startles me.

"Sara Sidle?"

I turn. A delivery man holding a beautifully potted orchid is standing there. I frown.

"I didn't order that," I tell him, an apology on my lips.

But he steps forward and hands it to me anyway, saying, "You're name _is_ Sara Sidle, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, but…"

He thrusts a clipboard near me so I can sign for this plant as he says, "It's been bought and paid for. It's a gift."

I examine the red "X" where he wants me to sign, and this plant truly is for me. I provide my signature on the line and return the pen.

"Have a great day, ma'am."

With that, he turns and leaves. Confusion washes over me. Who could have sent me this plant? Hank? No, no…we're not that serious yet. And he seems more of a roses-and-chocolates kind of guy. I pluck the card from its holder and it almost slips through my fingers: _From Grissom_.

A small smile tugs involuntarily at the corners of my mouth. How sweet and thoughtful and beautiful. A token of atonement, I believe. My fingers gently trace the soft purple and white flowers before I set it on the locker room bench and make my way towards Grissom's office.

He's still here – he comes in just as early as I do and stays just as late – and he's working on paperwork. I knock on the doorframe before entering. He looks up and sets his pen down, giving me his full attention. My threat to quit must have really startled him. I smile at him as I say, "Thank you for the orchid. It's beautiful."

He drops eye contact as he stammers out, "You're welcome. I-I know it can't fully make up for what I've done, but I'm hoping that-that it can be a step in the right direction. And…I was wrong yesterday: the lab doesn't need you."

I raise an eyebrow at that and cross my arms over my abdomen. So much for him not being an ass. But then I see him sigh in frustration and press his fingers to his eyes.

"No, no, I-that's not what I meant," he says.

I smirk. The brilliant Doctor Gilbert Grissom is tongue-tied. I stay silent and lean against his doorframe, giving him the chance to collect his thoughts into coherent sentences.

"Of course the lab would be sorely wounded by your absence," he continues. "On the other hand, any other lab would be privileged to gain your intellect. But I-I just meant that…"

He trails off. He's still not looking at me. I take a deep breath and take a few steps into his office until I am right in front of his desk. I stare down at him and he finally looks up. The intensity of his gaze startles me, as do the depth of emotions I see in his eyes.

"What I was trying to say yesterday," he says softly, "is that _I_ need you. I want you here. Please, reconsider your decision."

He falls silent and finally breaks eye contact again. I am speechless after his admission, but I quickly recover.

"Do you have my leave of absence request form?"

His shoulders slump in disappointment and I can see the hurt that he is trying to hide in his eyes. He reaches to the corner of his desk for the form and he holds it out to me. He has already signed it. But I keep my arms crossed and I smile softly as I tell him, "Shred it."

He looks perplexed for a minute, but then realization slowly dawns on him and a broad smile lights up his face.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**October 2005**

I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it wouldn't last. These past few months were all I could have ever hoped for. I just wished he had come to me first – privately – to discuss the situation. I mean, to blurt out a crime scene that I was suffocating him…

My apartment seems so bare and lonely after the months I've been spending with Grissom. I've barely slept here at all for the past couple of weeks; most of my stuff is at Grissom's townhouse. That ought to be an awkward retrieval trip…

A dull ache has settled in my chest ever since he gave me the not-so-subtle hint that we were becoming too much for him. I don't want things to be over. I had thought we were doing so well.

I take a sip of the beer I've been nursing and I squeeze my pillow more tightly to my chest. Thank God it's my night off; I'm not even on call. I could barely keep myself together though the end of last shift, and Catherine's oblivious comment of "fishing off the company pier only brings trouble" did nothing to help. I know it's not her fault; she has no idea Grissom and I have finally gotten together. Nobody does

My phone is off – a perk of being off and not on call – and I try and become numb. I try to prepare myself to see him in twenty-four hours. I've just finished my first beer and about to get my second when there is a knock on the door. I freeze. My only visitors are usually Nick, Greg, or Grissom. Nick and Greg should be working. Grissom…

As I walk to the door, I pray that Nick or Greg have stopped by to tell me that they need help with the case. Or maybe it's a delivery that I didn't order. I would even take the apartment manager coming up to tell me there's some catastrophe happening to the building. _Anybody_ but Grissom…

No such luck. I peer through the peek hole and see him standing outside the door, timidly. Shit. I am _not_ ready for this. I am _not_ ready to face him. But I have to open the door because he's waiting; however, he looks about as nervous as I feel. I fold my arms across my middle and step back to let him in. He tentatively enters, stepping lightly as though he is treading through a minefield.

"Hi," he says softly when I turn to him after closing and bolting the door.

I sigh.

"Hi."

He licks his lips – a nervous habit I've just recently noticed he has – and steeples his fingers in front of him. He gestures to the couch, but I walk to the one-person recliner, leaving him to sit opposite me on the loveseat. He exhales and leans forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs.

"We need to talk," he begins.

I halt him by raising my hand and I begin my tirade.

"You know what, it's fine that we didn't work out," I say, forcing the words out though they taste like acid on my tongue. "We tried, it didn't work, but now we know that at least we attempted. But the least you could've done was told me that things weren't going well. Before we were at a crime scene, I mean."

I fall silent, and his eyes narrow in confusion. I wait for him to speak, but he doesn't, which only fuels my frustration.

"Don't you have anything to say?" I exclaim in exasperation.

His eyes are still puzzled and his jaw is doing that back-and-forth thing it does when he is really confused and doesn't know how to respond.

"What makes you think I'm unhappy with the state of our relationship?"

This pulls me up short.

"But… Isn't that what you came here for? To break it off?" I ask.

He balks and replies, "Lord, no! I came here to see why you've been so distant and upset. You're cell phone was off, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've lost your home phone number. Now that I'm here, I think I made the correct decision…"

A multitude of emotions floods through me. Embarrassment tips the scales, followed closely by relief. He still wanted me; he still wanted this. I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees – almost miming his position – as I massage my temples, shielding my face from view.

"But what about what you said at the crime scene last night?" I demand. "About the couple suffocating each other?"

His brows furrow again until recognition dawns upon him. He sighs, as if he suddenly realizes what this is all about…

"Sara, I swear to you, it was just another suggestion as to why the husband and wife were sleeping in separate bedrooms," he says slowly, looking me in the eye. "Nothing more."

I can feel my face flushing in embarrassment; all of this turmoil over nothing at all. I feel his fingertips lightly touch my knee, and I unhide my face from my hands to tentatively intertwine my fingers with his. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I look up.

"Have I not said that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me?" he asks softly.

I give a noncommittal half-shrug and he chuckles.

"Well, you are. And _this_," he says, gesturing between the two of us, "has brought me nothing but happiness. I care very much about what we have; just as I care very much about you. So please, believe me when I say that I still want this. If-if you do, that is."

His eyes grow worried and his lips tensed. He has placed the ball in my court; he is giving me an out, letting me make the decision on the future of our relationship. I smile, stand, and join him on the couch, not letting go of his hand.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**January 2013**

Numb. That's all I've been able to feel since I hung up the phone. I feel absolutely nothing at all. It's a very strange feeling: it is as if time has ceased to exist and I am now viewing my life from above. I'm a spectator rather than an active participator.

I am somehow able to drive myself home through the shroud of haze that has been pulled over me. Within the house, pictures smile from all around me; happy faces taunt me from behind their glass prisons. But I pass them without looking at any one in particular as I make for our bedroom...

No. No, it's not our bedroom. It's _my_ bedroom now. Because he doesn't want me anymore. Rather, he doesn't want me to want him.

And that thought, that realization, pulls me up short. It manages to break through the numbness. It collapses the internal barricades my heart and mind have temporarily erected and easily turns them to rubble. And it brings with it unimaginable pain. My fourth finger feels as though it weighs a thousand pounds; it feels as though the thin band of gold is burning my very skin. I fall on top of the bed and begin to cry, to sob. Shoulder-shaking sobs that emanate from the soul as I grieve for all the things I've lost tonight, and all the things that will never be.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope you've enjoyed the chapter, and again, I apologize for the delay. And sorry to end the chapter on such a downer, but I thought a little peek into the aftermaths of the episode _Dead Air_ was appropriate here. Please drop a review to let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Broken Hallelujah  
****Chapter 4:**

**Disclaimer:** I'm a poor college kid simply playing with the wonderful characters that Anthony Zuiker was so kind to create.

**Spoilers: **Any season is up for grabs; the ultimate goal is explaining episode 13x15, _Forget Me Not_.

**Summary:** It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship, through their ups and downs, beginning to end.

**Author's Note:** I am so very sorry for the delay; I never intended to go so long without an update. I had several drafts of this chapter written, but scrapped them all, because I suddenly had no idea how I wanted this chapter to go. However, after much time and effort, here is finally chapter four! And beware: the rating has been bumped up to M. And, again, the song I'm referencing at the beginning of every chapter is _Hallelujah_ originally written by Leonard Cohen, but there have been many remakes of it. And I do my own proofreading, so all mistakes are mine.

* * *

_There was a time when you'd let me know_

_What's really going on below_

_But now you never show it to me, do you?_

_And remember when I moved in you_

_The holy dove was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah._

**December 2005**

"Why won't you sleep with me?"

There was a dwindling fire burning in the hearth, the blue spruce was fully-decked and situated in the corner of the townhouse, and two scientists were now pulling apart from a snuggle-session that would have put most teenagers to shame. Grissom had been kissing Sara periodically, but he had been content to just keep her in his arms until they had to leave for work. But her question startled him.

At his silence, a smirk began playing on her lips. She fiddled with his fingers as she waited for him to struggle his way through the mental block. For almost seven months, they'd been together, involved, in a relationship – whatever you wanted to call it – and it was magical; she wouldn't trade it for the world. The first few weeks were slow and awkward as they tried to figure each other out, personally, but since then, they'd only been gaining momentum with very few hiccups to interrupt their newfound peace.

She let out a soft sigh and was about to kiss him and tell him not to worry about it when he said, "I sleep with you almost every night."

That was true: they'd been sharing a bed for close to three months. But that was when a water leak in Grissom's townhouse holed them up together in Sara's apartment for a week back in late September. Rather than confine one of them to her too-short couch, she insisted that they could tolerate each other sharing a bed; they were adults for crying out loud. But being it being a queen-sized bed, there was only so much room until limbs became entangled. Sara was pleasantly surprised when she awoke nestled in the warmth of Grissom's arms. And she was even more surprised and overjoyed when he didn't pull away or stutter out an apology the next morning when he awoke and found them entangled thusly. Whoever could've guessed, but they both slept more peacefully together than they ever had apart. Sara all but lived in Grissom's townhouse now.

Sara let out a snort of amusement and lightly smacked his chest at his comment.

"That's not what I meant, Griss, and you know it."

"Why do you still use my last name?"

Now it was her turn to stop short. She slowly rotated her body so that her side was pressed up against the leather of his couch and she was now facing him. She still had not surrendered his hand. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and kept her eyes on their intertwined fingers as she mulled over his query.

"You're avoiding the question," she finally said, lifting her gaze and giving him a cheeky grin.

"As are you."

_Damn_! She sighed heavily and shrugged, saying, "I don't know. I guess because that's really all I've known you as. Even in San Francisco, at that conference, you addressed yourself as Grissom and when people tried to call you "Dr. Grissom," you told them it was just Grissom. Hell, I didn't even know what your first name _was_ until you gave me your business card before departing back to Vegas. Then when I got here, everyone here called you Grissom, too. Well, except for Brass. And Catherine, on occasion. So, I don't know; I wanted to fit in here, so I just called you Grissom, because that was what everyone else did, and because that's what I was used to."

She took in a deep breath after her wordy explanation. Grissom watched her with an amused smirk as she had begun to speak more and more rapidly the longer she went on talking. He gently squeezed her hand, and she flushed deep red.

"I'm rambling," she apologized, embarrassed.

"It's endearing," he assured.

They sat silently for a few moments before Sara broke the silence.

"So, _Gilbert_," she said softly, teasingly, "do I get my answer now?"

Grissom said nothing. For several seconds he said nothing, to the point where Sara was unsure if he had heard her. But he suddenly spoke so softly she had to lean forward to hear him.

"'But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die'."

Sara sat back in shock. Never, in the seven years that she had known him, had he ever quoted the Bible.

"Genesis?" she asked, puzzled.

He nodded.

"Chapter two, verse seventeen," he said, and he said no more, as though he had completely and fully answered her question.

Still confused and slightly frustrated, she began to massage her temples.

"So, what?" she asked. "Our relationship is going to be your downfall? Your demise? It's too risky for you?"

"Yes," he said simply.

She felt as though a heavy weight had dropped into her chest and stomach. She _still_ wasn't worth the risk? Her hand went slack in his and she tried to hide the hurt from her eyes. Grissom, feeling the loss of Sara's hand, looked over and quickly realized how his words could've been interpreted.

"You are familiar with the story of Adam and Eve?" he asked.

At her nod, he continued, "They had it all: paradise. But they lost everything in a moment of weakness. I don't want that to happen to us. I care about you very deeply; and I-I don't want to lose what we have. It's too important; the consequences of a mistake could be too severe."

Sara stared at him, dumbstruck, for several moments. The tightness in her chest began to dissipate and a warm feeling was flooding its way through her veins. True happiness: that was what she felt when she was around Gil Grissom. A slow smile worked its way across her lips. She leaned her head against his shoulder and said, "Then that can wait. For now, _this_," she grabbed his hand in both of hers and she rested them on her thigh, "is all I need. It's more than I ever hoped was possible."

He gently kissed her temple and murmured, "Merry Christmas, Sara."

She smiled at him and squeezed his fingers.

"Do you know what Adam and Eve didn't lose?" she mused quietly.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes piercing down into hers.

"Each other."

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**February 2006**

She slid her key into the lock and slowly opened the front door to Grissom's townhouse. She'd been given his spare key as a Christmas gift: the best gift he could have given her, in her opinion. He was finally opening up and letting her into his life more fully. She rarely frequented her apartment; most of her clothes and necessities were in the townhouse.

No noises were emanating from the townhouse, even though she saw Grissom's car parked in his driveway. Then she heard the water abruptly stop flowing through the pipes and understood he was showering, which was exactly what she wanted to do. Five hours beneath three different cars was not how she had planned to spend the end shift, and it had left her feeling greasy and smelling of exhaust. Depositing her shoes beside the front door and her keys and phone on the kitchen counter, she made her way to the back of the townhouse. With clean clothes in her arms, she knocked on the closed door to the master bathroom.

"Gil, are you decent?" she asked, beginning to open the door anyway.

They had been involved for a few months shy of a year now, but they had yet to consummate anything. Hell, they hadn't even seen each other's bare bodies. Sara always tried to push the boundaries Gil kept so rigidly in place, but every time she toed them, he would sigh her name and gently reign her back in. She shouldn't have been so surprised: it took them over five years to get comfortable enough with each other to share meals together regularly and live together. At the rate they were going, they'd both be retired before they made love…

"Yeah, come on in," he replied.

But he was not in his typical sleep attire of old boxers and a baggy t-shirt. A towel was wrapped securely around his waist, but that was it. His bare chest was fully exposed in all of its gloriousness. She'd never seen his bare torso before. Her eyes wandered over his damp hair, his arms, his chest, his stomach. Lightly muscled, she admired his arms the most: arms that could lift the tiniest fragment of evident, carry boxes of case files all across the lab, and yet still hold her tenderly at night. A light feathering of hair covered his chest and stomach. Her eyes continued down, but the towel obstructed the view she was most anxious to get to…

"The shower's all yours," he said, interrupting her thorough examination of previously uncharted territory.

She smiled in thanks, and proceeded to remove her shirt. Two could play this game, for he'd never seen this much of her, either. Grissom swallowed and tried to look away, but was unsuccessful: his eyes were drawn to her. Her pale, taught stomach. Her slender arms. The smattering of freckles across her shoulders and chest. The slight swell and curve of her breasts within the confines of her bra…

No. That was not allowed. He so wanted to touch her. Her skin looked so smooth and satiny. He wanted to cradle her face and kiss her dizzy, and then make sweet love to her. But he shouldn't. She was so young… She was used to younger men with more stamina, more vigor. Not old men who had spent the better part of life in solitude. And he didn't want to ruin the truly amazing life they were building together…

And oh, sweet Lord, she was taking of her jeans. God, her legs seemed to be a mile long… The curve of her calf leading into the curve of her thigh leading into…

He felt an awakening deep within him, and he was sure the effects of that awaking would become all too visible very shortly. Aware that he'd been gawking at her for several minutes like an experiment he was particularly intrigued with, he made a hasty retreat, muttering, "Oh, and, uh, Sara? Happy Birthday," before closing the door behind him, giving her – and him – privacy.

In the bedroom, he took a deep breath, but could not get the image of Sara's near-naked image out of his head. His stomach was twisting with desire so powerful, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt. It scared him how powerfully Sara affected him, and that was now coming on him, full-force. His erection was noticeable and unwanted. Panicking, he went to the kitchen for a glass of cold water. He gulped it, and tried to think of anything but Sara, but every time he thought he had it under control, she continued to infiltrate his mind…

In the shower, Sara smiled to herself. She felt a little guilty about her pseudo strip tease; however, she was not the instigator. Seeing Gil right there in front of her with nothing but a towel on, knowing that she couldn't do a damn thing, was frustrating. But she was comforted to know that her body did have an effect on him. She saw the way his towel twitched…

And she also saw the way he was looking at her. He looked so conflicted. He looked desirous, yet he looked like he was trying to keep a safe distance.

As she turned the water off, her mind was made up. This relationship would _not_ work if there was any distance. It was time…

When she entered the bedroom, he wasn't there. She furrowed her eyebrows, but then she heard clanging in the kitchen. She smirked. He still must be a little overwhelmed. No matter: he'd have to come in some time.

He entered a few moments later. Avoiding eye contact, he swiftly crawled beneath the sheets. Though they were sharing the bed, he stayed on the very edge of the king-sized mattress, facing away from her.

"Gil?" she asked softly.

No answer.

She sighed softly. She touched his shoulder, and he jumped slightly. She moved her hand down to his chest, pushing him flat on his back. In the soft light from the bedside lamp, she saw his eyes flicker to her, but then quickly away as his face reddened slightly.

"Do you trust me?" she asked softly, her hands still on his chest.

His eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Of course. With my life."

She swung her leg over his hips, straddling him, pinning him there, and kissed him deeply. He returned the kiss and he stroked her cheek. When they pulled apart, his breathing was ragged and irregular as he whispered, "Sara…I…I can't…"

If the pressure beneath her thigh was what she thought it was, then he, indeed, could. However, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and whispered, "Why not?"

No answer.

She pulled back and she saw in his eyes the war raging in his mind. Waiting for him to answer, she absently ran her fingers through his hair.

"Because I'm so much older!" he choked out.

She stopped her ministrations.

"I've told you: that doesn't bother me," she said forcefully, her eyes fierce.

He shrugged and said, "Yes, but that does not take away from the fact that you are so much younger, and have certain…expectations…"

The metaphorical light bulb popped on. She felt almost numb now that she had figured out why he wouldn't make love with her…

"You think I won't be satisfied?" she asked lightly, lifting herself off of him.

Grissom stifled a groan at the loss of contact; he could feel himself pulsating and thickening with each passing moment – much to his chagrin – and her warm weight had felt heavenly. But he was thankful to have her away from him so that he could think with a clearer head.

"Not that, per se," he said delicately as he rolled onto his side to face her. "As I said: I'm much older. I'm afraid that…"

He trailed off and broke eye contact. Cool fingers lifted his chin, and he was met with a pair of the most loving, caring eyes he'd ever seen.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with you," he continued. "I'm afraid that you'll grow bored. I'm afraid you won't like what you see. I'm afraid of losing you when I've finally taken the chance to have you…"

Sara read the fear and insecurities in his eyes, but how to quash them? Did he not know that that was what she feared as well? She feared that one morning she would wake up and he'd be gone.

She offered him a small smile and she grabbed his hand. She brought it to her chest, right over her heart. It pounded strongly, surely. Then she laid her palm over his heart.

"Any relationship that comes from the heart and is forged in trust is bound to succeed," she told him softly. "And I'm not going anywhere. There is nothing you can do that would make me leave. So, please, do you trust me?"

He ran his hand from her chest, up her collar bone, to her neck, giving her the chills. He kissed her jaw, just below her ear, lightly, and whispered, "Intimately."

Goosebumps arose on her skin, and her stomach tightened. She ran her hands under his shirt and pushed it up over his head and off his shoulders, revealing the sight that had begun the evening. Her fingers explored his chest and shoulders. When her hands made their way to his stomach, he balked.

He'd never been self-conscious about his weight before, but that was before he had a beautiful woman in his bed, touching him. But Sara looked at him with a look of utter acceptance and love that, suddenly, he no longer felt embarrassed under her scrutiny.

He pushed his hands up her sides, bringing her tank top with it. Little by little, more of her was exposed, until the shirt was off. And, by God, she was beautiful. Grissom's eyes flickered all over her naked torso, soaking it in. His fingers ran over the skin, tracing random patterns, until he grazed her breasts. He felt like the luckiest man in the world: he had a young a beautiful woman in his bed, and that woman – for some reason unbeknownst to him – also wanted him. He could feel himself straining painfully against the confines of his boxer shorts.

She gasped at the sensation of being touched by Gil Grissom. For claiming he wouldn't know what to do, he was doing a marvelous job. Desire and need was coursing through her, consuming her. Then his hands grazed her breasts, and she balked. She'd always been self-conscious about her breast-size. They were on the small size; nothing like Catherine's…

But Gil didn't seem to mind at all; he was looking at her, mesmerized, as though he was seeing the sun for the first time. And suddenly, she was okay with her body.

He leaned in and kissed her lips, murmuring, "Thank you," before continuing his ministrations. He was working his way south, to her pajama pants. They were swiftly removed. He planted kisses along her collarbone, her stomach, the valley between her breasts.

The sensation of his beard scraping along her skin was indescribable. Her eyes fluttered closed and her stomach coiled. Yes, his fears were most definitely unfounded. He kissed her mouth again, and Sara took that moment to free him of his boxers. Then she took a moment to admire him in his entirety before her.

He did not have chiseled abs and biceps. He was not bronzed from the sun. But to Sara, he was perfect, and worth the wait. He was here before her, and he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

She reached out a touched him, the solid length of him that was standing completely erect. Gil trembled above her, and let out an involuntary moan. She then leaned up and captured his lips with hers.

With shaking hands, he made quick work of her panties. He tossed them to the floor and turned back to Sara. She had turned a deep scarlet from having so much of herself exposed to him. But she knew that this was a learning curve for the both of them.

He let his eyes wander down her chest to her stomach to the dark hair that covered her entrance. His fingers followed the path his eyes had taken. Heat. Immense heat and moisture was rolling off of her when his fingers found their destination. Sara was trembling beneath him and she sighed when his fingers explored her folds.

He gazed into her eyes, and she stared back with such intensity, it startled him. He slowly entered her. She arched her back and buried her face in the crook of his neck, gasping. He turned his head and planted a feather-light kiss on her cheek; she met his gaze, and now she was startled by the depth of emotions swimming there. Love was radiating from their cerulean depths.

Slowly, they began to rock. And it wasn't awkward, as it sometimes is the first time with a new partner. There were no missteps. They like were two dancers who had been partners for years and knew every move by heart.

Involuntary sighs and gasps and moans filled the bedroom as the dance sped up. Grissom watched Sara's face the entire time. The sheer pleasure and ecstasy on her face brought him unimaginable happiness, knowing that he was doing that for her.

Sara wrapped her arms under his, and gripped his shoulders until her fingertips grew white. She was close. Their pace quickened, intensified. Her back arched, and she saw a hot, white light as waves of hot pleasure turned her body to jelly.

"Oh, Gil," she moaned, her eyes rolling back into her head.

He followed her into oblivion, gasping out her name.

When they returned to the land of the living, they both knew that nothing would ever be the same. They had crossed the point of no return: they were both irrevocably changed. And though neither wanted to admit it yet, they knew they were head-over-heels, no-going-back in love.

**CSICSICSICSICSI**

**November 2012**

He was buried deep within her, and they were at the height of that old tango they knew so well. His face was buried in her hair as he inhaled her scent. He missed her so much while they were apart, but the time they spent together was well worth it, to him. Her warm, soft heat encased him and that familiar aching, coiling feeling in the pit of his stomach had arisen. He sighed out her name as he rocked with her.

She had her arms wrapped around his neck and her forehead was resting in his collarbone as she moaned, "I've missed – oh, _God_ – I've missed this…_God…Gil_!"

Grissom looked down at his wife. Her face was contorted in a mask of pleasure and wonder as her orgasm crashed over her and took her under. He remembered the first time he had made love to this beautiful woman. Almost seven years ago. And she hadn't aged a day, it seemed. He, on the other hand, was almost entirely white-haired now. He was showing just how old he truly was. He hadn't seen Sara in over a month…she said it didn't bother her, but her admission just now was telling a different story… Sara didn't deserve an old man that was never there… She deserved someone younger… Someone who could take care of her, satisfy her, be there for her…

He pulled out of her, suddenly soft, suddenly sick. Sara was still on her high that she hadn't realized her husband didn't accompany her into oblivion. She finally curled up beside him, her breathing still ragged, and murmured, "Still perfect. Still worth the wait."

He opened his arms for her, needing to hold her. Lord only knew the next time he'd have the chance. She immediately went into them and kissed his neck, sighing, "I love you."

He said nothing, which, when she thought about it many months later, should have concerned her. He instead just held her tightly.

Sara fell asleep almost instantly; a day of travel will do that, though. Grissom, however, did not. He stayed up half the night, thinking; and thinking can sometimes be a very dangerous thing.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope that chapter was worth the wait. That final snippet was my interpretation on when Grissom started thinking it was in Sara's best interests if they split. Anyhoo, drop a review to let me know what you thought!


	5. Chapter 5

**Broken Hallelujah  
****Chapter 5:**

**Disclaimer:** I'm a poor college kid simply playing with the wonderful characters that Anthony Zuiker was so kind to create.

**Spoilers: **Any season is up for grabs; the ultimate goal is explaining episode 13x15, _Forget Me Not_.

**Summary:** It's a journey with Grissom and Sara and their relationship, through their ups and downs, beginning to end.

**Author's Note:** I'm very sorry about the delay; I don't mean to keep updating so sporadically, but that seems to keep happening. I hope you enjoy this newest installment!

* * *

_Maybe there's a God above,_

_But all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you._

_It's not a cry you can hear at night,_

_It's not somebody who has seen the light:_

_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah._

**November 2007**

"Can you make sure Grissom gets this?"

"Of course, Sara," she said brightly. "Is it important? Does he need to see it right away? I think he's in the building. Would you like for me to page him?"

Sara shook her head. He would find it soon enough. Her heart broke at the thought of him reading what she'd just written. For a moment, she wondered if what she'd said was adequate. She contemplated snatching the letter back and running out of the lab without looking back. But she didn't.

"No, whenever he comes up front, just see to it he gets it," Sara instructed. "Thanks. Goodbye, Judy."

"Goodnight, Sara," she said cheerily.

Sara left swiftly. She had one more loose end to tie up. Her locker was cleared, Ronnie was as prepared as she would ever be, and she wasn't about to say goodbye to everyone. But she did want to say farewell to one particular person. She'd tried to, earlier, but kept getting interrupted.

When she finally found Grissom, he was with other people, namely Hodges. Oh well. What were they going to do, fire her?

She walked purposefully up to him, grabbed his shoulders, and planted her lips firmly on his. He was frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do. But when she deepened the kiss, he willingly deepened it with her. His lips yielded to hers, his hands found her waist, he leaned towards her as she leaned towards him. And for those few beautiful seconds, it was just them. There was a silver lining shining through her stormy clouds, never mind that Hodges – and the rest of the lab techs – were staring.

She didn't want to pull away, but she had to. She inhaled his scent, and committed it to memory – not that it wasn't already there – but really tried to hang onto it. Grissom still has his hands on her hips, and she stepped back, letting her hands trail onto his chest.

Their eyes met, and she could tell that he knew something was wrong. So she gently patted his chest and walked away. Tears stung her eyes as she walked away from him, and she could feel his stare burning into her back. But she continued to walk out of the lab – away from the people who had been her family for the past seven years – and to her awaiting taxi.

The cab driver was still sitting in his idling vehicle, parked by the curb, when she entered. The cab driver's eyes flickered up to his mirror to gaze back at his passenger. She was very pretty, but a heavy sadness was taking heed and casting a shadow over her. She looked as though she was in great need of a long vacation and a stiff drink.

"Where to, miss?"

She didn't look up at him. He wasn't quite sure if she'd heard him, and was about to ask again when she answered, "McCarran International, please."

He nodded, and turned onto the freeway.

And they were off, winding through the flashy streets of Vegas.

Sara drank in all of it: the bright lights, the tourists, the scantily-clad women, the casinos. She was leaving it all behind, and she was leaving behind the most important person in her life. Gil. He'd be heartbroken when he realized she was gone. She hoped her letter was sufficient, but then again, she knew it wouldn't be. What do you say to the person who means everything to you, when you know you're about to break their heart? She'd felt inadequate when he left for his sabbatical last year, and she even knew he was coming back to her. She couldn't say if she would ever return to this hellish city.

When she first saw the dead body of Marlon West, for the briefest of moments, the thought of just getting a cab to the airport and boarding the first flight out of Vegas had crossed her mind. She'd call him when she landed. But he deserved so much better than that. He needed to know how much he meant so much to her. _They_ had meant so much to her. She wanted to give him a little piece of her – the last piece of herself – before leaving. She hoped it was enough. She hoped that, one day, she'd be repaired enough to deserve his love again. He deserved so much better than a broken old shell.

**October 2008**

Desperate sighs and moans emanated from the closed bedroom door. Two souls that had been separated for too long were joining together, melting together, loving together. Sara's arms were wrapped tightly around Grissom's shoulders as she panted into the crook of his neck. Grissom had his hands wrapped tightly around her hips.

Sara felt that molten warmth begin deep within her belly. Those exploding fireworks were beginning behind her eyes. And she pulled back. Grissom's eyes were closed. She mustered the strength to hang on long enough to kiss his forehead, cup his cheek, and whisper, "Open your eyes, Gil."

Slowly, they opened. Immense sorrow and the weight of a thousand lifetimes shone back at her as the rawness of him was exposed. Her heart ached for him. She held his face in her hands as she kissed his cheek, sighing, "I love you so much."

Both were sent into oblivion.

When they returned to the land of the living, Grissom rolled them onto their sides. Sara wrapped her arms around his neck, and his face was buried in the crook of her shoulder. When she felt moisture on the skin of her neck a few moments later, her heart clenched and she held him more tightly to her.

"I'm sorry, Gil," she murmured. "I am so sorry."

She felt his body shuddering beside her as he let out the emotions he didn't let anyone else see. He clutched her by the waist like a drowning man would a floatation device.

"Please, stay," she heard him whisper from her bosom.

Her heart shattered in her chest, and she suddenly regretted returning for the funeral. Tears clogged her throat and she couldn't answer him. All she could do was press her lips firmly to his temple and continue to murmur, "I'm so sorry."

**January 2013**

It was his last night in Malaysia, and Gil Grissom was restless. It had nothing to do with the fact that he'd be on a multi-month excursion to Africa beginning tomorrow. His thoughts weren't concerned with the vast mysteries and wonders that the savannas and deserts of Africa held. No, his mind was much further away, in a much smaller desert, with the one person in the world he wanted to spend his evening with, but knew he could not.

He glanced at his wristwatch: 1:04 in the morning. It would be ten in the morning – of yesterday – in Las Vegas. Sara should be sleeping. At least, he hoped she was sleeping, though he knew the likelihood of that was slim to none. Not after the conversation he'd just had with her not even twenty-four hours ago…

His little apartment was very dark, empty and uninviting; most of his possessions were already packed away for the journey. He still had five more hours until he had to be ready to depart for the airport; he knew he should try and get some sleep. But he knew that would be an impossible task. Sleep hadn't been his friend in a long while.

Donning a pair of khaki pants and a polo – the clothes he'd laid out for tomorrow – he automatically pocketed his wallet out of habit, slipped on his shoes, and exited his apartment.

A cool breeze awaited him, a pleasant change from that day's oppressive warmth. The streets were barren but well-lit. And so he walked. He didn't take heed to his surroundings – it was fairly difficult to get lost in the small city in which he was currently residing – and instead he let his feet guide him where they may.

And the next thing he knew, he was gazing up at an elegant cathedral. White walls and various statues of Mary and Jesus and the apostles gazed down at him. Heavy wooden doors swung easily open when his palm pressed against the brass handle.

The interior was just as impressive: stained glass depicted various Biblical events and there were wooden pews aligned in crisp, neat rows. Candles were still lit, and flickering shadows were dancing across the walls and a warm glow diffused throughout the sanctuary.

He walked further in and sat down gingerly in the very last pew. It was very peaceful in here, he mused. Somewhere nice to think. But he'd been trying to avoid thinking, these past few days, at all costs. He'd buried himself in his work so that he wouldn't have to think about Sara.

But now that he had nothing else to occupy his time or his mind, she came, once again, to the forefront of his mind. That dull ache that was ever-present in his stomach began to swell as he remembered how wounded she'd sounded. How she'd begged, pleaded, bargained, and even yelled. How she tried not to let him hear her cry. But it really was for the best, even if she couldn't see that right now.

He rested his elbows on his knees and clenched his hands together into a single fist. He braced his lips against his fingers as his thumb idly and unconsciously caressed the band encircling his ring finger. He let his eyes close as he sighed, remembering the glorious day when Sara had placed that ring upon his finger.

_What happened to forever_?

Sara's voice painfully jolted him back to the present. Those were the words she'd whispered miserably to him over the phone. And that almost broke him.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," Grissom murmured absently against his hands.

"How long since you have been in the house of God, my brother?"

Grissom's eyes snapped opened, and he spun towards the wizened voice. From the shadows appeared an old man, donned in a set of dark emerald robes. The lines on the priests face indicated he's seen many troubles in his many years, but his eyes were still alive and bright.

Grissom moved to stand as he stammered out, "I apologize, Father, if I disrupted…"

But the elder gentleman raised his hand, stopping his speech. He smiled and said softly, "This sanctuary denies no one. But judging by your discomfort, it's been awhile since you've been here."

Grissom smiled a little sheepishly before nodding and asking, "That obvious?"

The priest did not respond. Instead, he said, "I'm Father Daniel. If you would like to continue, I'd gladly listen. But if you would prefer solitude…?"

Father Daniel trailed off, raising his outturned hands towards Grissom, leaving the decision up to him. Grissom hesitated, but finally motioned for the Father to sit. He hadn't been to confession in more years than he cared to admit. Both men sat in silence for a length of time, neither feeling the need to say anything. But Grissom finally whispered out, "I don't know where to begin."

"Why don't you start by telling me her name?" Father Daniel suggested.

Grissom turned his head and gazed inquisitively into the other man's eyes. Age lines crinkled his mouth and eyes as the priest smiled gently.

"You've been twisting that band on your finger ever since you stepped in here," he said matter-of-factly, nodding towards the ring in question. "So I'd bet my bottom dollar that's the root of your problem?"

Grissom looked down, and, sure enough, he was in the midst of fiddling with his wedding band. He stopped immediately.

"I am a married man, Father," he affirmed, and he began to root around his pocket for his wallet.

He produced a photograph of Sara, and showed it to the priest. It was taken shortly after they'd moved to Paris, and she was decorating his home office. She was dressed in jean shorts and a short-sleeved black shirt that flowed nicely around her frame. Her hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and she was grinning broadly at him, laughing at a comment he'd made just before he'd snapped the photo.

"She's very pretty," Father Daniel appraised, handing it back to Grissom. "What's her name?"

"Sara," he murmured absently, his eyes caressing his wife. Sara. Not his wife anymore. He'd relinquished his hold on that title… "She's beautiful. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me. But I've done something very wrong.

The words no longer flowed freely as the knot in his stomach became lodged in his throat. He inhaled a shaky breath and began to twist at his wedding band again.

"I-I broke my wedding vows," he whispered. "And I broke her heart."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Dawww, how sad. I've always been intrigued at how Grissom is handling the break up, and have always pictured him in a church. Anyhoo, I again apologize for the delay. Your feedback is much appreciated!


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